Lost MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 4)

by Bella Knight

  “I’ll meet you when I can,” she said. “Gotta see to Henry and Inola.”

  “You’ll be a target,” said Callie, after begging Ivy to come with her.

  “I’m going to still have ATF and DEA in town,” she said. “And I’ll have guards.”

  “Write the text for the guards and send it.” Ivy did. “Good,” said Callie. “Now, we can hit up California with confidence.”

  “Send me a thousand pictures,” said Ivy, kissing Callie deeply.

  Still languid from sleep, they moved slowly, carefully, stroking and kissing, putting their fingers deep inside each other. They came in gasps and moans, then Ivy screamed into Callie’s mouth. They slept again, took a shower, and started their day.

  Ivy called Bella, and Katya answered the phone. “Ivy,” she said, “Bella is sleeping in a cot they brought for her right next to Inola. They hold each other. Is very cute.”

  “Excellent,” said Ivy. “And Henry?”

  “I let you speak to medicine man,” she said.

  “This is David,” said David Chasing Hawk.

  “This is Ivy. How is Henry?” asked Ivy.

  “Ah,” said David. “You are his spirit daughter, as Ace is his spirit son.”

  Ivy stood there a minute, letting her tears flow. “I am very happy and honored to hear that,” she said.

  “Good,” said David. “Now, hear my words. He must sleep deeply, for three days. Then, he must go back to the land. It is bad medicine to stay later. We will go, and he will heal.”

  “Good,” said Ivy. “What can I do?”

  “You are in danger. I have been told that you killed the son of a powerful man. We have heard from our people, and they say there is anger.”

  “Then,” said Ivy, “I will lead them to me and away from our people. There are two agents who will gladly help me.”

  “Be safe, Hunting Hawk,” said David. “Our people need you.”

  Ivy teared up again. It was a moment before she was able to speak. “I will.”

  “Fly well,” he said and hung up.

  Ivy texted Nina at the ranch, “Henry coming home in three days.” She undressed and hopped in the shower. She got out, dried her hair.

  Ivy got a text back as she dressed in her uniform of jeans, a black T-shirt with the Aerosmith logo, her motorcycle boots, and a silver clip in her hair holding back the twists.

  She called Ace next. “Henry’s coming home in a few days.”

  “Um,” said Ace.

  “Sorry,” said Ivy. “I thought you’d be up.”

  “Had to deal with half the club. Told them no cards, no flowers. We can find a more concrete way to help them.”

  “Sorry,” said Ivy. “I’m falling down in my duties.”

  “Fuck that shit,” said Ace. “You took out the baddie. Nice shooting, by the way.”

  “Yeah, about that,” said Ivy. “We think Daddy will get pissed and come after me. I want to lead them someplace Wraith and Saber can take them down, maybe lead them back to Daddy.”

  “The agents? I’m down with that. What do you need?” asked Ace, now with no trace of exhaustion in his voice.

  “Get some of us and/or the Iron Knights to protect us while I lead them off into the desert. I’m sending Callie and the girls off on a vacation to California.”

  “I’ll ask Lily to ride shotgun,” he said. “And we’ll cover the hospital, and the ranch when they get out of the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ace,” said Ivy. “I wanted this all to be over.”

  “When do you think Daddy will come?”

  “I’ll ask the agents. He’ll probably send someone.”

  “An assassin,” said Ace, his voice sharp. “Those motherfuckers don’t mess around. My guess is, a day or two.” He sighed. “Okay. I’ll talk to Lily.”

  “Go back to sleep,” said Ivy. “We have a little time.”

  “Not much,” said Ace. “I’ll send some texts, then catch some more Z’s. I took the liberty of making sure the sign that Dirty Vegas is closed for a few days is still there.”

  “Thanks,” said Ivy. “Get the fuck to sleep.”

  “On it,” he said.

  She fished out the card Wraith had left her. She texted a coded message for one or both of them to meet her at a waffle house nearby. She was fucking hungry.

  Wraith and Gregory had the black-under-the-eyes look, of people who had gotten no sleep for days.

  “Sorry for dragging you two out of… wherever the fuck you were,” said Ivy.

  “If you have anything that can lead us farther up the food chain, we’ll go without sleep,” said Wraith.

  “Mmft,” said Saber.

  They sat. Ivy ordered bacon, wheat toast, a scrambled egg, and home fries. Wraith ordered a pecan waffle with a side of bacon, and Saber ordered a steak with home fries.

  “I think Daddy Cartel Dude will send someone after me since I’m the one that pulled the trigger,” said Ivy.

  Saber choked on his ice water. Wraith pounded him on the back. “Calling him Daddy Cartel Dude is like calling the President of the United States a kinda important guy. Benicio Martinez Talamantes is the kingpin of the Los Zetas cartel. He’s a dangerous psychopath.”

  “So was his little boy,” said Ivy.

  “Ignacio Carillo Talamantes was taken out only because he was a baby snake, and he went up against people he did not realize had allies, or would see the kidnappings as an affront to an entire nation,” said Wraith. “I saw the faces of the people in your club, and I met some Iron Knights. Some of them are Paiute, aren’t they?”

  “Southern Paiute, to be exact,” said Ivy. “The Northern ones are in Oregon, California, the northern part of Nevada, and some up in Idaho.”

  “Okay,” said Wraith. “He didn’t know the players, and he kicked a fire ant anthill. So, now he’s dead. More’s the pity, because his daddy, as you put it, has put more people in the ground in pursuit of his own ends than anyone else, mostly women. He murdered Luisa Martinez Talamantes, Benicio’s mother because she took a lover after him —after he’d sent her away, pregnant and alone, with no help from him.”

  “Sweet guy,” said Ivy. The server brought their food, and they were all silent as they wolfed down the calories they’d skipped over the last few days.

  Wraith pulled up a picture on her phone. “These are his top enforcers. Miguel ‘El Muerto,’ or Death. Trana will probably not be dispatched. He’s smart enough to know he will be caught, convicted, and probably extradited back to Mexico in his old age to stand charges there. He’s killed American tourists because he thought they were DEA agents.” She showed a picture of a man with cinnamon skin, dead brown eyes, and a half-smile.

  “They could send Juan Palma Arellano. He’s the son of another cartel leader; the two are allies. He’s the torturer and hit man for the number two in the organization, Felix Caro Talamantes, Benicio’s second son. His first one was killed in a very suspicious plane crash.”

  She showed a picture of a man with short black hair, black eyes, and a square face bisected by a scar across a nose that had obviously been broken.

  “They might send him, but we’ve got warrants out for him, too.” She pulled up another photo on her phone.

  “Inez Domingo Sanchez, ‘La Diabla’, or Devil Woman, is probably who they’ll send. She is the only woman in their organization they don’t treat like something that fell off the bottom of their shoes. She’s bright, fluent in Spanish, English, Portuguese, French, Nahuatl, and Mixtec. She kills for anyone who will pay her, and the cartel pays her very well. She likes to assassinate people from afar, with a gun or bomb, although we’ve heard of times when she gets up close and personal. She shoots first, uses a machete later.”

  She showed a picture of a beautiful woman with a fall of long black hair, coral lipstick, and wraparound shades, wearing a dress to match the lipstick, and a gun in her hand.

  “Her associates are very loyal because she pays in guns and product, both of them fine
grade. They’ll fly her over in a private plane. We’re already watching several airfields. She will probably stay a few days, then set up some way to kill you.”

  “We need to get her away from the city, my club, the Nighthawks, Henry’s place… everywhere. I need a trail as bright as a fire contrail to get her to follow me and me alone. Then, you get her, and put her on trial for her murders,” said Ivy, finishing a piece of bacon.

  “The lady has balls of steel,” said Saber to Wraith. “She went after Ignacio, balls to the wall, with no end in sight. If anyone can survive long enough for us to catch La Diabla, Ivy can.”

  Wraith nodded. “I’m in. Got a bag of tricks for her?”

  “Absolutely,” said Saber.

  “What tricks?” asked Ivy.

  “How are you with knives?” asked Wraith.

  Ivy beamed a wide smile. “Used to throw them. Could cut a leaf off a tree. Got any throwing knives?”

  “Can I have some shuriken?” asked Wraith.

  “Throwing stars?” asked Ivy. “They’re super cool. But, mainly they’re a distraction. Come to think of it, you may need some. Just pinch and throw.”

  “I like a trigger grip more,” said Wraith.

  “Less accurate,” said Ivy.

  “Good God,” said Saber, putting his head in his hands. “I’ve got two monster women after a third one, and they want to throw stars instead of guns.”

  “Where in the desert do you want to do this?”

  Ivy thought a moment, ate some home fries, took a drink of her orange juice. “There’s a sweat out in the desert, just over Paiute land. Make it federal jurisdiction, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, that it would,” said Saber.

  Ivy spoke again, “Nothing there but a fire pit and some tents, easy to put back together. Wait, that’s sacred ground, no blood to be spilled there.”

  “We’re not planning on spilling blood,” said Wraith. “If there’s any blood, it will be hers.”

  “We can construct a fake one off the sacred land super-easy,” said Ivy.

  She texted David Chasing Hawk, who called. “I do not see a problem with the Standing Rock. It is not sacred. It is on the edge of Henry’s land, but on the far end. It is a good place to put your fake sweat lodge. We will do it, and leave yellow markers. We will send the GPS. Four hours.” He hung up.

  “The trap will be ready, including GPS coordinates, in four hours.” She finished her last piece of bacon.

  “Excellent,” said Wraith. “Switch the coordinates one space, and substitute 0 for 1.”

  “On it,” she said and stood. “I’ve got a wife and kiddies to send off. Thanks for the assist.”

  “Meet at Sonic in three?” asked Wraith, also standing.

  “Absolutely,” said Ivy, then she was gone.

  Saber stood, then sat back down. “That lady is stone crazy.”

  “If we bring in Peter…” Wraith said, finishing her waffle.

  “Deadfall Peter?” asked Saber.

  “The one and only,” said Wraith.

  Deadfall Peter was an undercover agent, specializing in surveillance used to take down very nasty people and send them to SuperMax prisons all over the US, and a few to Guantanamo. Ex-military, with a keen knowledge of technology, he could catch the actions of everyone, even in high desert winds.

  “He’s in town. Things happened too fast to put him in play.”

  “Let’s call him,” said Saber. “My boss and your boss are playing together very well this week.”

  “It gets better,” said Wraith. “Have you ever actually seen him?”

  “Nope,” said Saber.

  “He’s First Nations. Sioux. He usually goes undercover as Hispanic. He should know what to do and how to do it.” She texted her boss, and he texted his. Then, they paid the bill and went to the hotel to crash for an hour or two.

  Deadfall Peter met them at Sonic. He was huge, with long black hair, a wide face with a flat nose, and a huge grin.

  “Where’s this sweat lodge you want me to bug?” he asked.

  Ivy smiled. “I take it he’s with you,” she said to Wraith, who laughed.

  “This is Deadfall Pete. He’s our electronic and physical backup.”

  “Physical, mental, emotional, electronic, spiritual,” joked Peter. “I can use some tricks to cut down on the wind noise. I got some fake desert rocks that are really cameras. I’ve got some other stuff, too,” he said.

  “Let’s go,” said Ivy, after texting the coded coordinates to Wraith and Saber, who forwarded them to Pete and his battered SUV. “Follow me. Your GPS is shit where we’re going.” She picked up a drink, stowed it, put on her shades and her helmet, and rode out into the desert.

  She didn’t take the road to Henry’s place, instead taking a road that eventually turned into a dirt path and led halfway up a small mountain. She parked in a tiny copse of bushes.

  “You’re right,” said Deadfall Pete, after he parked and got out. “This is the ass end of anywhere.” He pointed to the yellow tags —strips of paint on trees to the exit, and to the place to park.

  The fire pit was freshly dug and filled with deadfall. There were two ancient-looking changing tents and a hogan for the sweat, complete with its place for hot coals.

  “First Nations works fast,” said Deadfall Pete. “This stuff looks a lot older than it is.”

  “Good work,” said Wraith, looking around. “Now we gotta find our blinds. And Deadfall Pete is gonna put in some cameras, wires, and other devices.”

  Saber took a duffel bag out of each saddlebag. “I’ve got sweets and treats,” he said. “Let’s get to hiding them.”

  They worked the scene, putting in all sorts of hidden things—weapons caches, wires, cameras (including infrared), and other things. The ladies practiced with the throwing knives and stars, decimating some fallen branches. They packed up, except for Deadfall Peter.

  “My new home,” he said, pointing to the sweat lodge.

  Saber clapped him on the back. “More power to ya,” he said. “I’m outta here.” Ivy led them back out to the road, and then they separated, preparing to take down a devil.

  “Infiltration, if done deftly, can get you all the information you need.”

  3

  Finders Keepers

  “La Diabla, Little Devil Woman, likes to kill on contact.”

  Inez Domingo Sanchez, “La Diabla” to her cartel bosses, tossed down the last dregs of her tequila. She put the shot glass down, smiled, and wiped her mouth. She stood, went to the rear of the private plane, and made adjustments to her hair and makeup in the private bedroom.

  The plane landed in Las Vegas at noon. She had only a few hours to find a woman with blonde hair that owned a bar. She wanted to go home to Miguel, her lover, one of Talamates’ best men. She chose only the best.

  She buckled in while the plane landed. Her men opened the door. They were hers, bought with her love —of guns and the very best cocaine and marijuana. She gave them expensive gifts and expected their loyalty in return. The few who were not loyal found their families immediately dead, one by one, until they were also killed. It had only happened twice until the lesson did not need to be taught again.

  Miguel, a tall man with dead brown eyes, a wide face, and close-cropped black hair, extended his hand in such a way that it became a suggestion. She took it, causing him to be raised above her other men. He was the man easiest for her to please. He preferred small weapons he could hide, easy enough to procure. He walked her down the stairs. His black slacks and white silk shirt hid many weapons.

  Pablo came after them, a slim man with bulging muscles, a study in cinnamon skin, hair, and eyes. In his tan trousers and cinnamon silk shirt, he tended to disappear, like something he cultivated. He preferred target pistols, more expensive and slightly harder to procure.

  Miguel walked her past the driver, who was holding the door open to the black limo. He slid in beside her. Pablo loaded the suitcases into the trunk —carefu
lly, so as not to damage the equipment. He came around the other side, to sit on her left hand, not her favored right. Lucia, her valet, hung the hanging bags carefully on the hooks for that purpose and sat facing her mistress.

  Inez sipped her favorite cherry champagne as they traveled. The ride to the hotel was blissfully short. It was a smaller hotel, that catered to more discriminating clients. Why be in the noise and bustle, touching shoulders with marks? La Diabla liked getting a suite, and why not pay less than at a noisy casino?

  Checking in took only a moment. The suite had three bedrooms. One of her men would always be awake, ready to lay down his life for her. Lucia hung her clothes, then unpacked. Miguel, as most favored, popped the top on the ice bucket of the cherry champagne she’d had delivered to the hotel, and poured a glass. She took her Glock 17, maintained and oiled by her men, and laid it on the seat before sitting. She liked her guns handy. Or, why have them? She accepted the champagne and had him bring her the plate of chocolates and candied almonds she’s requested.

  She said, “Pablo, go to the bar where the bartender works, then come back and report. If you see her, kill her.”

  “Of course,” he said, turning and heading out the door.

  “Miguel,” said La Diabla. “Call hotel security and have them station two men outside my door. Then, go to the place where she lives. She will not be there. Then, bring me what you know.”

  “Yes,” said Miguel. He made the calls, then left.

  “Lucia,” said La Diabla. Her valet entered. “You are permitted to order anything for yourself off the menu. I am not yet hungry.”

  “Yes,” said Lucia. She went back into the bedroom to call.

  La Diabla sat and sipped, content that soon she would find the woman who killed the son of Benito Martinez Talamates. He was not mourned. But, Benicio could not allow for even one bastard to go unavenged. La Diabla understood that. She once killed an entire family because the mother had not paid back her loan, and had spat in La Diabla’s own face when she came to collect. No one could cast shame upon her. She would not tolerate it.